Trial By Deception
by Mistress of Masks
Summary: "Oh, what a tangled web we weave...when first we practice to deceive." ― Walter Scott, Marmion.
1. Prologue - So It Begins

**Trial by Deception  
Prologue – So It Begins  
**

The shifting in the blue skies above was enough to determine that the day was waning. It was late in the afternoon, evening really, and the world surrounding the Oracle's Sanctuary was strangely quiet. There had not been a creature seen for some time now, and not even the wind rustled the tree leaves. The atmosphere of the Sanctuary and the forest around it was sombre; it was _wrong_.

Kneeling before a shrine dedicated to the Triple Goddess, the Oracle prayed. She sought counsel from her patron deity, and prayed to understand the shift in the universe. There was no reply, however. Sighing quietly, Emalia rose and stepped away from the shrine.

It was unusual for her prayers to go unanswered. Appreciated or not, whatever it was that was causing this uncertainty to envelope the Sanctuary would simply have to remain a mystery for the time being.

The sheer curtains of satin and silk that separated the Oracle from those who would seek her council were drawn aside, and she began to tread carefully to descend the stairs. At the bottom of the stairwell, a man turned at the sound of her approach. From where he stood, Lucian, the man tasked with protecting the young Oracle, could see the concern etched upon her face. This did not sit well with him.

"My lady," he said. As she reached the landing, Lucian took her hand into his own and tucked it into the crook of his arm, keeping his hand atop hers as if he were afraid to lose her.

A small frown ghosted upon her lips, and she turned sightless sapphire eyes to him. Her unseeing gaze came to rest off-center of his chest, unnerving for those who were unused to her condition, but natural for the man escorting her now.

"Lucian," she said his name quietly. There was a hint of annoyance to her voice. "How many times must I tell you that you needn't be so formal?"

For a moment they were both silent. Lucian led his charge away from the steps and to one of the nearby wooden benches so that they might sit. It was only after he gently pushed her onto the bench that he finally replied.

"Countless times, my lady. But you should know by now that I will continue to address you in such a manner."

There was more silence as Emalia was lost in her own thoughts. The quiet tinkering of servants clearing away bowls of incense and burning candles was the only noise for several long minutes. That was until Lucian placed a hand on her knee in an attempt to draw her attention.

"Your council was not as it usually is, my lady. And you have been praying to the Triple Goddess for some time now. Is there something bothering you?" Emalia could not see his features, but the concern in his voice was evident.

"Yes," Emalia admitted quietly.

"And what is it?"

She sighed softly, and lowered her gaze. "I do not know."

"You do not know?"

"There _is_ something - but what is it? I cannot say." She tried not to let on to the fact that she was extremely frustrated with this lack of knowing. She did not need to be an Oracle to know that Lucian would throw a fit if he knew how much this uncertainty bothered her. She had not been sleeping well lately.

He frowned with slight annoyance. "Did we not have an agreement that you would provide me with straight answers instead of the cryptic ones you give those seeking your council?"

"Lucian, you are one of the few people I would never be cryptic with. If I knew the answer to this question then I would tell you. Alas, I do not, so I _cannot_."

"Then try, my lady," he encouraged her with a pat on the knee.

For some time neither of them spoke. Lucian allowed Emalia time to gather her thoughts and consider her answer carefully. The young woman knew, however, that even if she had a lifetime to think on the situation, she would never be able to fully explain it to him. Not without guidance from her deity. Inhaling through her nose and summoning her patience, she decided to rely on metaphor - how else does one describe an indescribable sensation?

"I feel as though we are teetering upon the precipice of change. As though we will plummet into an abyss of the unknown, and I do not know whether it will be for the better or for worse." The sliver of fear in her voice was evident, and she could only hope that Lucian did not overreact. Unfortunately, it was a fear that she could not stop - the fear of events that her powers of prediction had yet to reveal to her.

Hearing the edge in her voice, Lucian raised his hand to brush a few strands of black hair out of her sightless eyes. These very eyes were useless for anything other than depicting emotions… and for seeing visions that ordinary eyes could not. He then cupped her face between his hands to look at her directly, though her answering gaze was always directed towards him, never at him.

"Come now, my lady. Even an Oracle cannot predict everything. All will become clear in time."

"I know, Lucian. But this, what I feel, it is _wrong_."

Gently he stroked her cheek with a calloused thumb, as though he was wiping away tears that were not there. He always hated seeing her troubled like this. It was hard enough when visions haunted her waking moments... but it was times like this, when she worried over the unknown, that were the worst. Especially when there was nothing he could do but offer her hollow words. What was worse, he was almost sure that she knew exactly how hollow they were. Emalia may have been blind, but she was perhaps the most perceptive person he had ever met.

"Soon it will become clear. Until then, I think you should rest," he finally replied in a soft voice. Lucian lent forward and placed a gentle kiss of her forehead in a rare loving gesture from the otherwise gruff man. Emalia sighed.

"I hope you are right."

Their foreheads touched in the gentlest of touches, and for a minute they remained like that, peaceful and comforted by each other's presence. In a moment, however, something drew Emalia's attention. She pulled away from Lucian and turned to stare toward the entrance of the inner sanctum, where she could hear heavy footfalls echoing off of the stone walls.

It took a moment longer for Lucian to hear what she had heard, and it wasn't until a young man had already pushed open the doors of the inner sanctum that Lucian had come to stand.

He unsheathed his sword in a practiced move and stood between his ward and the approaching man. The contrast between the gentle caregiver, and the fierce man with thunderclouds in his aura was striking.

Upon seeing the barrel-chested man with sword in hand, the younger man came to a sudden halt and froze.

"State your business here," Lucian ordered.

Frightened by the sword, the man hesitated for a second before he was able to stutter out an answer.

"I have come to deliver a letter to the Oracle."

"From whom?" Lucian asked, unsatisfied that this man didn't pose a threat.

"Uther Pendragon, the King of Camelot."

A mummer went through the crowd of servants that had begun to gather. As they whispered softly amongst themselves Lucian narrowed his eyes in suspicion. He very much doubted that _the_ Uther Pendragon, the king who despised magic with a venomous fury, had sent the letter.

Apparently, however, his views were not shared. Emalia stood and stepped forward from behind him to stand at his side, and placed a hand on his arm to lower his weapon. Lucian glanced down at her then back at the courier before finally sheathing his sword. While he may not have trusted the man, he trusted Emalia's judgement.

"Please bring me the letter," she instructed in a gentle voice.

Once again, the small man hesitated before stepping forward. With shaking hands, he held out the letter to her. When she made no move to take it and only stood with an outstretched palm, he glanced upwards nervously - and was shocked to finally realize the meaning of her vacant stare. Wordlessly, and looking slightly apologetic, he laid the letter in her palm and retreated to a safe distance to await her reply.

With the letter in her grasp, she turned away from both men. Her fingers skimmed over the surface of the letter in search of a seal in wax and when she found it, she swept a thumb gently across its surface.

As her fingertips felt the contours of the seal, a small frown formed upon her lips. To her knowledge, it was indeed the Pendragon seal, but Emalia had trouble understanding why the King - the very man that had nearly wiped out her ancestors - would be contacting her. Uther had never attempted to hide his dislike of magic, and this letter made her feel as though she was contemplating an elaborate trap.

"You," Lucian snapped at the fidgeting man near the doors. Emalia would not ask Lucian to read the letter until he had left. "Make yourself scarce."

This time he did not hesitate. The man simply turned away and took off running to escape the hellfire glare of the Oracle's guardian. Once the man had excited the inner sanctum, and the doors had slammed shut, Lucian turned his attention back to the young woman at his side.

He placed his hand on her shoulder and guided her back to the wooden bench that they had been occupying. Lucian reclaimed his seat by her side and pursed his lips in thought. "You do know what the letter is concerning?"

"No," Emalia replied softly, her eyes still staring vaguely downwards, in the general direction of the letter in her hands. "Read it for me?"

Lucian slipped the letter out of her hands and only after he had examined it carefully did he break the wax seal. Emalia heard a rustle of paper against paper before he cleared his throat and began to read:

"I find myself in the uncomfortable position of asking for your assistance. A plague has befallen Camelot and I am powerless to stop it. It is killing my people at an alarming rate, and my only court physician has fallen to the illness and is no longer able to offer his assistance. I have been forced by my desperate circumstances to take steps that I would otherwise abhor. Several renowned physicians have been powerless against this plague, and have diagnosed it to have magical roots. With your extensive knowledge of magic, you may be able to help us cure this blight. Camelot has never had trouble from the people of the Isle of the Forgotten, so I am putting my faith in the belief that you are no more evil than your magical roots would dictate. Therefore, I ask you to travel to Camelot and aid us. You have my word as King that no harm will befall you during your stay." Lucian stopped and seemed to tense beside her - she could almost hear his teeth grinding. Her brow crinkled.

"Lucian? What is it?"

Without explanation, he continued reading.

"Should you refuse or ignore this plea for help, it will be taken as a sign of aggression, and the Isle of the Forgotten will henceforth be branded as an enemy of Camelot."

A number of minutes passed by and no one uttered a single word. They simply allowed the young woman time to process the information and the request asked of her. While no one spoke, they all shared the same thoughts.

Why had a plague fallen upon Camelot? What did it mean for them? Would she be able to stop it? The majority of thoughts, however, were stuck in the ruts of concern - for what would happen to their beloved Oracle if she agreed to venture to Camelot? It was an unknown and frightening answer that responded.

Like them, Emalia was lost in her own thoughts.

She struggled to give a balanced appraisal of the situation, but even as she did, the Oracle knew that she would travel to Camelot. She had no choice in the matter, potential animosity with Camelot be damned. Innocent lives were at stake, and if there was a chance that she could save them, she had to take it.

"Lucian," she said his name softly as she turned in his direction. "Ready a party of your men."

"My lady?"

"We depart immediately."

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _I hope you enjoyed reading. Reviews are always appreciated. c: A big thank you to_ _ **Star Crossed Writer**_ _for beta-ing, and being such a wonderful help so far. c:_


	2. Chapter One - A Chance Encounter

**Trial by Deception  
Chapter One – A Chance Encounter**

They had been travelling for some time now – just shy of ten days. The journey from the Oracle's Sanctuary was a trying one, particularly when travelling with a young woman who was not only blind from birth, but whose kind was banned by order of the King. Discretion was required. Needless to say, their discretion was not advised - it was necessary.

Uther Pendragon may have requested her aid, and he may have given his word that no harm would befall her, but one could never be too careful when it came to the King and his abhorrence of magic.

Uther's hatred was known – and feared – throughout all of Camelot.

But he was not simply paranoid, as so many believed him to be, nor was his hatred strictly black and white. The King was known for attacking magical folk with the same cunning, sly aggression he attacked other perceived enemies of his kingdom.

This was the reason behind Lucian's desire to employ caution instead of bold confidence. He was not yet convinced that no harm would come to his ward, and so the man was content leading their party. Mostly they stuck to travelling across the countryside using less travelled paths, or by forging their own through the forests.

He wished to avoid villages where the Knights of Camelot might be lurking, and where the risk of encountering the plague would be higher. For the moment, however, he had halted the party in a small clearing amongst the trees to allow them a rest, and a chance to stretch their limbs.

From where she was nestled safely at the middle of the group, Emalia tugged gently on her horse's reins and brought the mare to a halt. Already, Lucian had slid from the saddle of his large black stallion, and was standing at the young woman's side, ready to assist her.

He placed his hands on her hips, and helped her down.

"Thank you," Emalia said as her feet touched the ground.

"You are most welcome, my lady," he replied, before turning his attention to his men.

As Lucian busied himself, and instructed his men to check the perimeter, Emalia took the time to stretch her stiff limbs. With her arms extended high above her head, the young woman rose up onto her toes before dropping her arms when Lucian placed a hand at the small of her back.

"How are you feeling?"

"I am rather tired. Do we have much further to travel?"

Lucian pursed his lips thoughtfully, and shook his head. Then, the burly man nearly blushed, embarrassed by his amateurish mistake. Even he, it seemed, could forget that his charge could not see such nonverbal gestures. With her posture erect and confident, she seemed as self-assured as a person with the eyes of a hawk. He cleared his throat and started anew.

"No, not much further now. We will be there before the day is done."

It was not difficult for Emalia to discern that something was bothering the man. He had been particularly quiet from the beginning of the journey, and even though he was watchful over her and his men, he had been distracted.

"Lucian, what is troubling you?" Emalia asked as she lay a comforting hand on his arm.

For some time, he remained silent, simply staring down at his ward, before sighing.

"I have not seen any sign of a plague. I fear that we may be riding int-" he halted mid-sentence as he noticed her eyes clouding over. The sapphire of her hues becoming an off-white as the vision took hold, he was in front of her, his strong hands holding her by the shoulders as her head lulled forward.

Lost in the throes of a vision, Emalia slumped against him. The images came in flashes out of sequence. They were blurred and difficult to decipher. She could hear screaming, and she could see death, and she could feel their pain.

She mumbled incoherently against his chest. It began as a dull ache behind her eyes; throbbing, constant. As the vision continued, the ache intensified until it felt like a dozen needles piercing her skull. Each attack and injury she witnessed in the vision was reflected in her pain, leaving her shivering and unable to shake the feeling of blood trickling down her skin.

The image of them, herself and Lucian standing among the trees, clutching to each other, flashed behind closed lids. Emalia whimpered softly as that image shifted into another, then another. It was as though she was seeing their camp as an observer from above, detached from the limits of time and space.

The vision flicked from one casualty to another, between men she knew from past visions and strangers alike.

It finally settled on the lifeless form of Lucian, lying motionless on the ground. He was almost eviscerated, gore spilling from a gash in his stomach and glistening a sick red.

Throughout it all, he held her. Lucian knew that there was nothing he could do to stop her visions, or to rid her of the pain they caused. This did nothing to sooth the gnawing ache that responded to her cries every time he held her like this. His brow was fraught with furrows, and he wished for the thousandth time that he could protect her from her own Gift.

As the vision ceased, it took a moment for the pain to subside. It was replaced by panic and fear.

Terrified by what she had seen, Emalia clutched at him.

"Tell me wh-'

"We have to leave!"

There was desperation in her voice and in her tearful eyes as she stared toward him. Lucian had seen that fear before, countless time. He stroked her hair gently, trying to calm her, even as his own gut clenched with worry.

"Emalia, my dear girl, tell me what you have seen."

She shook her head. She pushed against him, trying to move him, and make him leave.

"We have to go, Lucian. We have to go _right now_. You're going to-"

Without warning he dragged her against him, prompting a surprised squeak to escape her. Embedded in the tree where she had been standing before, was an arrow with crimson fletching.

For a moment, there was silence.

"Bandits!" Lucian bellowed. He kept his arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders. His men did not rally to his side as he expected them to do. They were already engaged in combat. He unsheathed the sword at his hip.

He began moving, pulling Emalia along with him while her eyes whirled about in panic. She could hear yelling, and the sound of metal on metal. She could smell blood in the air. Her stomach threatening to rise in her throat, and she fought the urge to be sick.

 _The vision - but it was too late!_

Emalia stumbled beside him as he guided her. The bandits were drawing closer now; the sounds and smells were right on top of them. Someone yelled, and she was shoved, causing her to tumble to the ground.

She could hear grunting and panting, the sound of a dozen swords fights happening all around. Lucian was in one of those conflicts, Emalia realized.

Someone landed heavily on the ground scarcely a foot from her, causing the woman to shout in surprise and flinch away. A hand grabbed her tightly by the wrist, and she screamed and jerked away, trying to break the hold. Lucian yelled a demand and the hand was gone, and she was left trying to scamper away. She stumbled, scratching her palms on the broken twigs and rocks of the forest floor, leaving them bloody and raw.

Lucian, who was on his feet with sword still in hand, dragged the bandit from his ward after the man dared lay his fingers on her. He kicked, breaking Lucian's hold, before finding his feet and turning to face the larger man.

With a shout he charged, and Lucian flourished his blade before lunging. The bandit attempted to block the attack, but with his lack of military skill, Lucian easily broke through his guard.

The sword fight was short lived, as was the bandit's life.

Lucian quickly returned to where Emalia was curled on the ground. He placed a hand on her shoulder, only to watch her flinch away in fright. She screamed, and lashed out, trying to shove the man from her without knowing who it was.

He caught her wrist with ease, and held it more tightly than intended. "Emalia." He said her name harshly. "Stop fighting. We need to move." He was much too concerned with getting her to safety to be gentle.

 _Hopefully,_ he thought grimly. _Hopefully I will be able to apologize later._

She was hurled to her feet by the man. Limping slightly, Emalia struggled to keep pace with Lucian as he pulled her through the conflict. She was pulled this way, and pushed that way, each time someone was foolish enough to attack.

Before long Lucian's hands were on her hips again, and he had lifted her into the saddle of his horse; the stallion that only he had ever been able to tame.

"Kharn will take you back to the Sanctuary," he said.

She had not said it, but Lucian knew now what she had seen. He was willing to accept his fate if it ensured her safety. Emalia was crying, he could see the tears falling from her eyes. She knew what would happen, the images replayed through her mind without remorse, and she could not leave him to die.

"Lucian, please, come with me," she begged. Emalia was trying to escape the saddle, to find her feet so she could throw her arms around his neck and cling to him, so she could refuse to leave until he agreed to come with her. Emalia managed to fall into her arms and wrap herself around him. With her face buried against his neck, she cried.

She would not make it without him. Lucian was everything to her: father, caretaker, teacher, guide, and without him she could not face the world.

Emalia could scarcely breath. Lucian had been with her for as long as she could remember. He had been there when she was born, when her father had been murdered, when her sister had died. She would not survive without him.

He was her heart.

"Go, Emalia," he said softly, forcing her back into the saddle.

He could see the tears cascading down her cheeks, and in that moment he hated himself. He hoped she survived, that she continued to be a beacon of light in a world consumed by darkness.

"Go!" He yelled, leaving no room for an argument.

He slapped the horse's hindquarters, causing the animal to take off. Emalia clung to the reigns, but her gaze remained focused in the direction Lucian had been left.

"Lucian!" She screamed his name, the sorrow and heartache in her voice echoing through the trees as the horse carried her from the conflict.

 **X – X – X – X**

When the prince had decided to venture through the gates of Camelot, it had already been late in the afternoon. The sun was high in the blue sky, and the weather perfect for a spontaneous hunting trip.

There was not a cloud staining the sky, and there was a pleasantly warm breeze rustling the trees. It was well-known throughout the kingdom that Arthur was an avid hunter, and that it was one of his favourite pastimes. Every terrain required a different skill, and each type of prey a different technique. Some quarry was to be pursued, while others had to be drawn out.

No two hunts were alike.

The wildlife was elusive and difficult to track. Arthur had still found and killed several small rabbits, which were now in the rucksack slung over his shoulder. It was not pleasant carrying the corpses with him, as the smell of blood was strong, and the rucksack stained crimson in certain places, but Arthur did not mind doing such dirty work this day.

He had wanted to get away from the stress of the castle, and his father. He loved his father dearly but the man was unbearable at times. Today had been one of those times. Arthur had grown tired of listening to his father's tirade about enemies of Camelot and how magic was an abomination, something that needed to be eradicated.

Merlin's behaviour had done nothing more to sooth the prince's annoyance. Something had happened, Arthur didn't know what, that led his manservant to have an exceedingly smug attitude. It had taken all of Arthur's willpower to keep from smacking the grin from Merlin's face.

Soon he would need to return to the city but he was not yet ready to return. Even if he found no more quarry, he was content to enjoy this rare moment of peace and quiet.

Merlin was likely less pleased with Arthur's decisions to disappear. He had probably been questioned in regards to the prince's location and when he was unable to provide such answers, he would have gotten himself locked in the stocks again. Arthur chortled. It seemed to have become a weekly occurrence for Merlin to be in the stocks, and the prince was beginning to wondering if he enjoyed it.

Arthur was not able to dwell on his thoughts for any longer, as something caught his attention. The faintest of noises - first the snapping of twigs, then the rustle of bushes - was on the cusp of his hearing. It had come from several yards behind him. In a practiced move he whirled about and notched an arrow.

Seconds slid into minutes as he scanned the trees and shrubbery ahead for signs of movement. His fingers twitched with hunter's instinct as he watched, and waited; silent and impossibly still.

It felt as though an eternity passed as he stood there. It was not much longer until he spotted the dust-coloured hindquarter of a deer. Arthur's mouth quirked upward at the prospect of a real hunt.

He took a quick moment to steady his aim, breathing deeply to focus, before releasing the arrow. Arthur notched a second arrow shortly after, and released it as well. His gaze was narrow and calculating as he tracked the arrows through the air before they disappeared through the foliage.

The first arrow missed, he noted with annoyance. The second, however, had buried deep into the deer's rump, knocking the animal from it's feet. The animal screamed in agony, rolling and huffing as it was wracked with spasms.

With a victorious smile, Arthur made his way to there the animal had fallen. It lay staring at him with impossibly wide eyes, and was wheezing pathetically. In an effort to spare it more pain, the prince retrieved the hunting knife from his boot and slit the deer's throat.

For a moment, he could see the disapproving gaze of his manservant, but the prince shrugged it off. Arthur did not consider it an act of cruelty, but one of mercy. He thought it better to end the deer's suffering than to let it drag on unnecessarily.

Undeterred by the gruesome task, Arthur set to skinning the deer and stripping the meat from its bones. If he was going to be transporting an entire deer back to the castle on his own, he was going to have to downsize it a bit.

It was as he was carving flesh from bone that a horse, frothing at the mouth and breathing heavily, burst through the foliage. With a startled shout, he lunged out of the way. The horse landed where he had been only moments ago before continuing. Arthur gawked unabashedly as he caught a glimpse of what looked like long hair and skirts - the rider, apparently female, was clinging onto the beast for dear life.

Another horse followed, as if in chase. More prepared this time, Arthur got a better look at the rider. The rough-faced man, leering and jeering after the first rider, was dressed in a style that had Arthur scrambling to his feet.

There had been rumours of bandits patrolling the forests, but this was the first time Arthur had seen one. He took off running after the fleeing woman and the bandit pursuing her. Unfortunately, he had come to hunt on foot - and they were on horse.

It was not long until he had lost sight of them.

But he could still hear them. There was a scream, one of pure fright, that echoed through the trees. With his sword unsheathed, Arthur bounded over rocks and fallen logs, following the obvious trail of broken branches and hoof marks. His teeth were gritted, heart pumping with adrenaline to rival the peace he had found earlier. He had certainly not been planning on being a hero this evening.

When he finally did catch up to them, chest heaving more with excitement than exertion, the scene before him confirmed his fears.

The horses were unmounted, and had stopped further up ahead. The bandit had her pinned, and she was unarmed and unmoving. There was blood on her face from where she had been hit, apparently passed out from the impact. His hand was attempting to force its way beneath the layers of her dress, dagger working at the ties of her bodice. The sight made the prince's blood burn with rage.

"Stop!" Arthur shouted as he charged, his anger making him lose the element of surprise.

The bandit turned and scrambled to his feet. There was an irritated sneer plastered to his lips. They circled one another slowly; both were well-trained, and confident in their abilities.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the woman, knocked senseless by a blow he had not seen, beginning to stir and moan. He thought that she might be attempting to crawl to safety. He desired to aid her, to get her away from her would-be violator.

"Stop eyeing my prize." With a growl the bandit lunged.

Arthur stepped back as he parried the attack, drawing the man away from the downed woman.

They circled one another in slow, well-trained steps, watching each other with narrowed gazes. Arthur gritted his teeth in annoyance as he watched the other man draw the sword sheathed at his hip.

It was the bandit, tall and heavily built, that moved first. He charged, ducking to avoid the sharpened edge of the prince's weapon, and slammed his shoulder into the smaller man's abdomen.

The wind was knocked from Arthur's lungs and thick soled boots slid back against the ground, kicking up a stir of dirt and leaves. Sticks and twigs swung up, clattering against his black shoes. Arthur brought his knee up, connecting it with the chin of the bandit as he attempted to dodge the attack.

Blood trickled from his lip, which had split on impact.

He glared hotly at Arthur and charged again.

It was now Arthur's turn to dodge as a sword came swinging at him with bone crushing force.

They went back and forth, attacking and dodging, moving in complicated steps and finesse. He wasn't certain how much time passed. His thoughts moved between the swordfight taking place and the woman still lying upon the ground.

Arthur wanted desperately to check on her, to see the extent of her injuries.

A sharp clang of metal ran through the air as Arthur blocked another swing. A tremble shook his arm as the bandit bore down on him with unrelenting force. Arthur parried another blow and moved to circle the man, moving to get behind him.

He moved faster than the bandit could react. The prince struck, stepping forward with one foot and thrusting his sword forward. With a sickening sound the tip of his sword pierced the light leather armour, slicing through skin and muscle and imbedding into the man's stomach as Arthur step forward again, putting all his weight behind him blade.

The bandit fell forward against Arthur, slumping as agony took his body. With a flick of his wrist, Arthur twisted the sword and pushed, shoving the other man from him and letting him hit the ground harshly.

He stood panting, sweat dripping from his brow. From his peripheral vision he noticed the woman moving, trying to crawl away. She was moving slowly, feeling her way with an outstretched hand, and sobbing quietly.

There was dirt, and blood, and tears streaked down her face.

Arthur sheathed his sword and approached her. He touched his fingers to her shoulder gently but her reaction was not one he expected. A short scream resonated in the forest, emanating from the young woman as she rolled onto her back, and shoved at the wall of his chest.

He resisted her easily, remaining motionless despite her efforts.

"Miss," he said softly, trying to calm her. "I'm here to help you."

Without warning she struck out, raking her nails down his cheek and leaving three shallow scratches behind. Arthur hissed in pain and captured her by the wrists. He held them tightly and hauled her to him.

Another scream shattered the silence.

"Lucian!" The young woman cried out. Her voice was trembling and her eyes were watering as they zoomed this way and that way. She continued to struggle. Pushing against him, and kicking out. When her efforts made it difficult to hold her, Arthur straddled her waist, keeping her pinned beneath his weight.

"Lucian, help!"

"Stop," he demanded. "I am only trying to help you."

Arthur noticed her eyes then. They were clouded over and rolling back, and a shiver trembled her frame despite the pleasantly warm breeze that blew through the trees.

"Hey," he said, shaking her slightly. "What's wrong? Look at me."

She did not respond. The young woman whispered only once before her head lulled back and she lost consciousness. For a minute he only stared at her, wondering whether it was pain or something else to that caused her to fall unconscious.

For a brief moment he hesitated, unsure how to handle the situation now. Arthur was only just beginning to stand when the snapping of twigs beneath heavy boots drew his attention.

He looked up to see another man staring back. He was dressed in dark leather armour that was stained red with blood. cuts littered his body, but there was a particularly nasty gash across his abdomen that should have kept the man from moving.

Arthur was sure he would bleed out before long.

 _Was he…?_

"Lucian, I presume?" Arthur asked cautiously.

From the look upon the his face he had misread the situation before him; the man atop the unconscious woman. Arthur began to speak, attempting to explain the situation but was silenced by the narrowing of the larger man's dark eyes.

"Let her go." Lucian hissed out.

Arthur swallowed hard and slowly began moving.

"You misunderstand, sir, I am attempting-"

It was as he stepped away from the female that Lucian lunged. Inspite of his injuries, he moved with surprising surefootedness and speed. He had clearly lost much blood, as was evident in the way his leathers were more red then brown, and Arthur had not expected such a vicious assault.

He barely dodged the large blade the almost cleaved him in half. He tumbled to the ground in an ungraceful manner and scrambled to his feet quickly to face his new attacker.

Arthur removed her sword from its scabbard and turned just in time to block another attack. He felt the impact of the strike shake his arms and sting his shoulders. The strength and viciousness of the man was unexpected, and Arthur could see that the young woman meant a great deal to him by the way he risked his own life for hers.

But even after a few steps and two swings of his weapon Arthur could see Lucian's great strength waning. With each step he took, each breath and swing, he was losing more precious blood.

"You have to stop." Arthur snapped as he pushed the man from him. "I am only trying to help her!"

Lucian charge forward again and swung, breaking the younger man's guard, this time catching him with the tip of his blade. A long swallow cut was left behind in its wake, trailing from Arthur's right shoulder and across his chest.

Arthur shouted in pain as he retreated out of reach. Anger slammed into him. It was not often anyone, left alone a man on death's door, was able to break his guard so easily.

As he spun around to face the charging man, Arthur retaliated. He side-stepped out of Lucian's path and attacked, tearing through his leather armour and cutting deeply into his ribs as he went past.

With a shout of pain Lucian fell to his knees, dropping his weapon as he did so. He heaved loudly and coughed painfully, bringing blood to his mouth and spitting onto the forest floor.

Arthur knew if this man did not start listening to him, he was going to kill himself.

He approached cautiously, keeping the tip of his blade levelled on the downed man.

"Listen to me, Lucian. I am trying to help this woman and you are making that difficult. If I do not get her to Camelot, then she may very well die." He couldn't say for certain that she would or wouldn't perish as he had not seen the extent of her injuries. But he had to say something to make this man stand down.

Lucian glared up at him. There was pain and rage shimmering in his dark hued eyes.

"Who are you?"

Arthur hesitated for only a moment. "I am Prince Arthur of Camelot."

Lucian's reaction to this information was not one that was expected. He laughed out loud, angrily and bitterly. He began climbing to his feet despite the objections of the Prince.

"Of course you are."

Without warning Lucian reached out, grabbing the younger man by the collar of his shirt and dragged him closer. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes and a sneer on his lips.

"Listen to me, _Prince Arthur_. I will allow you to aid my ward but know this. If you are not who you claim to be, and if any harm comes to her, I will gut you and leave you for the buzzards to finish."

Arthur threw his head forward, his forehead connecting with the other man's nose, almost breaking it. Lucian threw him away and grabbed his face, gingerly touching his nose, which was now dripping blood.

"Threats will not get you anywhere with me, _Lucian_." Arthur retorted hotly.

They glared at one another. Arthur's grip on his weapon tightened when the other man appeared as though he might attack again. He truly did not want to kill this man, but if it came down to his own life or Lucian's, he would pick his own without hesitation.

"Tread carefully, boy."

Without speaking another word he turned his back to Arthur. He whistled, a soft and playful note that was carried on the wind. The black horse that had nearly trampled the prince earlier came trotting to the older man. It shoved its nose into Lucian's awaiting hand for a pat.

"You did well, Kharn," he cooed softly as he stroked the horse's mane. "But I have one more task to ask of you this day."

The horse - Kharn, Arthur had heard him call it - shook its head and snorted.

"Stop! What are you doing?" Arthur asked as he saw Lucian had moved and lifted the unconscious woman into his arms. From the strain on his features it was an effort from him to exert so much strength.

Arthur sheathed his weapon and moved forward, holding his arms out for her.

Lucian stared down at him.

"You are going to kill yourself if you continue like this. Give her to me."

Lucian remained unmoving.

"It is clear to me she means a great deal to you, and that you mean a great deal to her. If you were to die, what would she do without you? Who would you trust to protect her. Please, give her to me."

He hesitated for only a moment. Lucian was annoyed that this self-proclaimed prince was so astute, but before long he placed his unconscious ward into his awaiting arms.

Arthur cradled her to his chest in an almost tender manner, and that was almost enough to prompt Lucian to snatch her back. He refrained from doing so and only watched the man step toward his large black stallion.

Carefully Arthur placed her into the saddle, keeping one of his hands on her hip as he swung into the saddle behind her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and held her to him once again. The horse shifted nervously beneath them.

Lucian stroked its mane once more, and whispered something to the horse that Arthur did not hear.

"He will not toss you while you carry her."

He fetched the dead bandit's horse, which had been grazing not far from them. Lucian swung into its saddle and steered to horse to the prince's side.

"Lead the way, and do not drop her."

No more words needed to be spoken. Arthur urged the horse forward and raced toward Camelot with Lucian hot on his heels.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _Hello there! I do hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. Reviews are always appreciated if you have time to spare, but not a necessity if you don't have the time. c: Another big thank you to **Star Crossed Writer** for beta-ing, and for being such a wonderful help and for contributing so much. c:_


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